


Enough

by millygal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Introspection, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, POV Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 07:43:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the years they've spent fighting and fooling themselves, sharing each other's hatred and heart break, they finally realise what matters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enough

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't something I'd usually have a go at but it came to me whilst listening to Switchfoot's-Let that be enough.

'I wish I had what I needed  
To be on my own  
'Cause I feel so defeated  
And I'm feeling alone' 

Heat of the setting sun at his back, warming him through like he has no right to be, Dean closes the door on his brother's lifeless body. Slowly, so slowly. Slow enough that the image of Sam's serenely peaceful features will haunt him all the way to the crossroads.

Burying his heart and soul in a box in the ass end of nowhere, night sky mocking him in his agony, Dean thinks perhaps he should've put Sammy's photo in with the mess of grave yard dirt and cat bones. Right now he can't tell them apart. He feels dead enough, feels like there's a ton of earth pressing down on his chest, has done ever since his little brother stilled in his arms.

Blood red eyes and a mouth so kissable he wants to punch it until there's no curve left, Dean stares down the barrel of his own gun, a hell of his own making, because really he's already in hell. Was thrown unceremoniously into the pit the very second Sam's heart stopped beating.

He'll give of himself, because he has nothing else left to offer, and even that's shredded. Unless the unholy douche bag bitch stood in front of him can bring Sam back, nothing else will ever be enough.

'And it all seems so helpless  
And I have no plans  
I'm a plane in the sunset  
With nowhere to land' 

Salt of Dean's tears mingling with his own against his lips, Sam wants to shake his older brother, break him a thousand times over for promising to leave. To walk away with the excuse that he's saving a soul. 

Sam's soul.

Sam's soul screams for the loss of promise that Dean's deal has stolen away from them. They will never get to find out the why and the how and the joy of reaching the end of the book, because his selfish dumb-fuck brother has written his own ending.

Sam wants to holler in his face, 'You didn't sign _your_ life away, you signed **ours!** ' but the peaceful acceptance of a death well deserved skating across Dean's features is enough to crumple Sam to the floor, enough to rend him in two.

'And all I see  
It could never make me happy  
And all my sand castles  
Spend their time collapsing' 

On that rack, wrecked and stripped of everything he holds close, Dean feels the last vestiges of humanity seeping through the flayed layers of his chest and he cries out, begs and prays for a moment's respite from the raping of his memories.

His precious moments, their precious moments, laid bare for all of hell and it's occupants to dig their hands into, up to their elbows. Blood and viscera mixed with the bitter sweetness of times he never thought he'd offer up as payment to make the pain stop.

It's years before he realises he can't remember what Sam's face looks like, the curve of his lips as he smiles, the light in his eyes when he laughs. It's then, when nothing and no one can bring him back to himself that Dean climbs down off that rack.

That's when he knows he deserves everything he's dishing out.

'Let me know that You hear me  
Let me know Your touch  
Let me know that You love me  
And let that be enough' 

The face staring back at him with love and hope and anger is not a face he recognises. Sure, it belongs to his brother, but the heart and soul behind it are changed in ways the younger Winchester will never understand and he weeps, silent tears, for the things Dean's lost whilst caged and crying.

He realises he too must look like a stranger; Body honed like a knife, sharp enough to slice his brother in half when they grasp and groan and cling in the dead of night.

He's not the same _Sammy_ Dean left alone all those months ago.

As he throws the demon chef in his trunk, as he listens to Dean's viperous words left for him to replay over and over again, he knows he will never ever be the same.

He's finally wielding the pen, finally signing his own name.

'It's my birthday tomorrow  
No one here could know  
I was born this Thursday  
22 years ago' 

When you watch the one you'd give your entire existence for standing on the edge of nothingness and cannot lift a finger to stop the inevitable tumble, it defeats you in ways you didn't know were possible.

Dean didn't think he was capable of being this still, this steady, and in this much pain all at once.

Not since he watched the tracks of his father's tears etch ashy rivulets into his cheeks. Not after seeing the light go out in Sam's eyes. Not when he'd felt Sam's fist connect with his already bloodied face and seen the look of utter contempt festering just below the service.

He stands, or he crawls, corrected.

There's no sign of a struggle, no sign that a great man has just thrown everything away in order to save a world that in Dean's opinion doesn't deserve saving.

Not at this cost.

'And I feel stuck  
Watching history repeating  
Yeah, who am I?  
Just a kid who knows he's needy' 

The moment Sam's soul is secure, the very second he feels himself inhabit every inch of his body, he's on his feet and running. 

He's so frustrated, so fucking angry. Why couldn't Dean just leave well enough alone? He'd been out and Sam had been, well he'd been in hell, but at least his brother had been free and clear.

Little Sammy Winchester starting and ending the apocalypse. Who knew?

Now he's back on his feet and back wishing he could say sorry for all those years that Dean's wiped away his tears and stitched him back together. 

When you can't walk you crawl, when you can't crawl you find someone to carry you.

He's vaguely aware he didn't come up with that great insight, some tv-show he used to watch to wile away the wee hours when they had nothing to kill, but it's a valid point and he still wishes Dean wasn't the one stuck dragging his useless ass around on a shoe string.

The wall falls away and he realises that he never really made it topside, not when flames lick the edge of his mind, not when Lucifer is massaging the inside of his head, poking his forked tongue into all of Sam's little nooks and crannies.

'Let me know that You hear me  
Let me know Your touch  
Let me know that You love me  
And let that be enough' 

There's never a good time to confess to your sins. Not when those sins lay you low. Not when you can't see a way out of all this blood and mud. Not when you lose sight of the meaning, the beginning. The reason you both started hacking and slashing in the first place.

There's never a good time, but very occasionally it's the _right_ time and as they circle each other for their millionth go round on this shitty ride they can't see a way off of, they understand that what makes this battle worth fighting is the possibility that one day they might not have to kick and claw and scream their way to the surface.

Heaven and hell, purgatory, even death.

None of it's worth the paper it's written on, not if they don't realise that _they_ are **enough**.


End file.
